On feeling stupid

University is not for poor people. It is not for survivors of sexual violence. It is not for the neurodivergent, mentally ill, or disabled. This isn’t a radical claim; universities are known to be elitist, inaccessible, and unaccommodating. We know this. Or do we really?

I’ve participated in and lead campaigns as a Women’s Officer and member of WoCo for years on how hard it is to continue to study and graduate as a survivor of sexual violence, especially on campus. I know these issues inside out on paper. I’ve read the data, I’ve heard strangers’ stories. But it was different when it happened to me. I looked around, and didn’t see the same empathy for these issues day to day. Support for these issues didn’t seem to make it from the abstract into personal praxis for others like it did for me.

People look at you differently here when you admit that, rather than choosing to revel in the joyful whimsy and spontaneity of deferring by choice, you’ve instead been ungracefully dumped out of your degree. “I’ve chosen to pause my studies and work instead” is the kindest euphemism I’ve found to avoid the alltoo-frequent conversation about my degree pathway that ultimately leads to uncomfortable pity, if not visible disdain. I couldn’t help but notice that after friends of mine at this university found out that I had been suspended and wasn’t quietly thriving like the rest of them, they interacted with me differently. Sometimes I wonder if they think I’m just too dumb to keep up. Sometimes I think the same.

But maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world if, even if I used to be able to, I can’t really keep up with uni the way I wish I could. Maybe it’s just not for me. Maybe it is, and the fact that I can’t seem to get access to a psychiatrist that isn’t awful might actually be having a negative impact on my quality of life, and I could perhaps be doing much better with a proper diagnosis, treatment plan, and better medical support for chronic health issues. The reason I was so drawn to this collective’s work was because it was one of the first groups I saw actually standing up publicly for survivors of sexual violence on campus after years of feeling alone in my experiences. I sometimes wonder if, had I not faced sexual violence while at uni, and perhaps if I’d also gotten the support I needed earlier, if I might have kept up a little better over the years.

Not only is it okay, but it is very common to struggle at university. As a litany of university campaigns will tell you, the university is an incredibly hostile environment that makes getting an education really hard if you’re not incredibly well off and wellsuited to the learning style. If it’s an inevitable condition of the corporatised neoliberal university, why are people attuned to this so ill-prepared to handle it in their personal spheres? The idea that “uni isn’t for everyone” is a commonplace saying, but it feels more often like a veiled insult at people who struggle or choose to opt out of the system than an offering of genuine support and understanding, or of a true belief in the value of other forms of learning and of career paths not involving university qualifications. If uni is known to be harder for some than for others, then why is every person who leaves uni treated so similarly? There are a few descriptors typically tied to dropouts: words like lazy, stupid, and undisciplined come to mind. It doesn’t really matter why it is that you dropped out, or how “legitimate” the barriers were to you continuing your studies. The prevailing archetype of a dropout has no nuance, even among many who pride themselves on understanding the vast structural problems of the university as an institution.

I’ve spent a number of years as a university student, making my first debut at USyd in 2016. In that time, I’ve taken a number of different courses across numerous faculties, and found myself encountering a number of roadblocks throughout. I’ve learned a significant amount while at university, both inside and out of the classroom. I may not walk away with a degree, but I am a very different, much wiser person than I was after I graduated from high school. A lot of the learning that I’ve done has not been within the scope of undergraduate courses I’ve enrolled in. One of the core issues with the increasingly corporatised university is the aggressive peeling back of all supports that enable people to attend university and get anything out of their experience other than their coursework - a lack of affordable student housing, inaccessible funding support, declining campus life, a hostile and increasing security and police presence, and skyrocketing course costs that force people to use all of their spare time to commute and work instead of getting to simply exist as a student and member of the community. There is so much value in what you learn from fellow students, from student organising, from discussions and experiences had without assessment schemes to place a value on them.

All I can say is: if you find yourself struggling with uni (like, really struggling); you’re not alone. It’s not because you’re a failure, because you’re stupid, because you’re not enough. University is just really hard. Hard for some in a few-stressfulall-nighters kind of way, hard for others in a way that makes it completely overwhelming and entirely out of one’s grasp. You’re not a failure just because your university has failed to support you or provide what you actually need to thrive. “Real learning” doesn’t start and end within USyd’s sandstone walls, and it’s way past time to genuinely challenge our internalised elitism and devaluation of other forms of knowledge sharing and skill development.

by Ellie Wilson

ABOLITION IN PRACTICE: by Shani Patel DON’T CALL THE POLICE

Prison abolition, as defined by academic and activist Angela Davis, recognises that carceral systems (prisons and, by extension, policing) are both an ineffective and harmful solution to societal problems. This idea finally reached the mainstream in 2020, with anti-police sentiment becoming more prevalent than ever before. As an unapologetically and unwaveringly abolitionist group, the USyd Women’s Collective advocates for the active practise of abolition in everyday life. However, those who have engaged with it might agree that this is not a straightforward feat. Abolition as a movement is a patient one, working tirelessly towards a goal that sometimes feels miles away as it continues to counter liberal calls for simple reform, and rightwing claims that “blue lives matter”. Abolition is a long term goal, but it can be enacted everyday, as we slowly untangle ourselves from a punitive system that does not serve us. Abolition is idealist - but exciting! -, pushing us to look for creative alternatives and strategies within our own communities.

Abolition does not have to wait, it happens every day, as we are constantly unlearning day-to-day reliance on policing. This means to embody our abolitionist values even when we are under pressure or afraid, perhaps acting against our ingrained instincts. More specifically, to stop calling the police, whether this be for your own assistance, or with regards to the behaviour of another. Overall, this practise evokes the idea that strong communities make prisons obsolete. In a Western capitalist society, we are raised at opposition with this notion, being taught to champion individualism and protect economic value above all else. This leads to an over-reliance on police powers and settler legal systems, which in turn reinforces these norms, and creates a selfperpetuating loop which can be difficult to break free from. Indeed, in writing this guide, I reflected on my own experiences with reaching out to the police for help, including when my family home was broken into. There is a commonality to the times that this has occurred: I was never made to feel safe, reassured, or given any indication that they could (or would) help me. I am fortunate that disappointment was the only result — just last year, Claudette Korchinski-Paquet called the Toronto police in order to receive mental health assistance for her daughter Regis, who ended up dead as a result of their involvement. In 2020, USyd students protesting the cuts to higher education experienced the often dangerous consequences of calling the police for the “safety” of others. University management collaborated closely with local police under the guise of COVID-19 safety, which saw countless students fined and multiple severely injured.

All this is to say that bringing police into communities often does far more harm than good, even when the caller has the best intentions. It often leads to the exacerbation of an already unsafe situation, particularly when said situation involves members of marginalised groups, who as we know are likely to be the target of police brutality. In reading this guide, and working towards abolition, we must recognise that over-policed people have never relied on the police for justice or help. The following is not new knowledge, but a guide for those of us who may face less risk of police violence to learn and practice harm reduction. Over-policed peoples have worked on alternatives to policing outside of the word ‘abolition’, and it is their footsteps, alongside abolitionist activists and academics, that we walk in.

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A PRACTICAL GUIDE TO NOT CALLING THE POLICE*

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1. Identify the situation Establish objectively

what is occurring, and consider your automatic reaction to it. What is the person in question doing? As a result of this, do you feel unsafe, concerned for the safety of someone else, or just uncomfortable/inconvenienced? What is the immediate, and longer-term risk of the situation? Be as unbiased and honest as possible.

for the situation Why is the person you have observed acting in such a way? Why does this make you feel the way you do? For example, if you have witnessed someone stealing, why does this make you react adversely? In cases like these, it is likely because we are reinforced throughout our lives with the idea that property and capital is more important than human livelihood. Ask yourself: is the person in question actually harming anyone?

3. Assess what would likely occur if

police were present Is it worth bringing an individual with lethal weaponry and whose organisation is known for violence into the situation? Consider the identity of the person involved, or even of those in the surrounding area. Will police presence cause harm to the individual or their community? Are you prepared to hold the responsibility for the harm done if your call resulted in a deadly conflict? Beyond this, are the police known for their effectiveness when dealing with the issue at hand? For example, in NSW, only 1 out of every 10 reports of sexual violence or assault have led to legal action between 2007-2017. Would police presence be dangerous, ineffective, or a combination of these?

4. Act: a. Kill the cop in your head.

From a young age, assisting authority is rewarded and reinforced as we are encouraged to surveil others and ‘dob them in’. “Killing the cop in your head” involves putting aside our tendency to police the behaviour of others, particularly when it comes to defending property and other capital (we’re on stolen land!). Examples of cases where this is the best response include witnessing theft such as in grocery stores, public misconduct such as urination, or property damage such as street art. Remember that someone’s financial or housing situation might require such an action, and they are not harming anyone — just look away.

b. Offer personal help.

Offering firsthand help is perhaps something that the majority of people might be innately opposed to doing, usually due to fear particularly if the situation presents immediate danger. However, in many cases, offering a hand or ear is an effective way to de-escalate a situation without calling the police, whose intimidating and often aggressive presence could likely do the opposite. For example, you can: have a calm and friendly conversation with neighbours whose noise is bothering you, offer victims of domestic violence a safe place to stay, or ask someone who is acting “strangely” in public whether they need medical or transportation assistance.

c. Call someone else.

Similar to the previous action, this involves a philosophy of mutual aid and stronger communities in order to keep the collective safe. Call someone who you trust to help you de-escalate the situation in an interpersonal manner, particularly if you don’t feel confident doing so on your own or if the situation may be diffused more easily with help. In NSW, the non-police services available for emergency calls are limited, however it is worth keeping the numbers of the Mental Health Access Line (1800 011 511) and Community Justice Centre (1800 990 777) on hand.

If you believe that there is no alternative to the police in this scenario, perhaps because you require a report for insurance purposes, an RO, or something similar, consider visiting a station rather inviting the police into your community where they could do unnecessary harm. If there is an immediate risk of danger and you feel the need to bring the police into a situation, ensure that you remain calm and do not overstate the situation in order to avoid a heavy handed response.

d. Act before the crisis point.

The community-based nature of these alternatives requires a strong sense of community to begin with. This is the case when considering minor conflicts such as noise complaints which could be less awkward if you know your neighbours better, along with more urgent issues which you will feel more equipped to handle if you already know of the community resources available in your area, such as homeless or domestic violence shelters. Attending workshops for conflict resolution, first aid, and self-defence can assist with helping you feel equipped to handle situations.

*Often, in situations where we might feel compelled to contact the police we are operating under high stress, so following a step-by-step guide like this one mightn’t be practical in the moment. However, following this thought process in less urgent situations is a good place to start tangibly incorporating abolitionist praxis. Learning and unlearning anything is a process which takes time, so the active reduction of our reliance on the police will build up until it is second nature and we are able to act quickly and efficiently when the time comes.